Real Life is Over-rated

Bored Border Collie.  Watch out!

My three-year-old son is always making-up games to play with found objects. I don't know why we even buy him toys. He's explaining "skip-the-rock" to me right now, which involves tossing water bottle caps and the larger rocks from gravel near the playground.

He is so beautiful. So far the beauty of my children has been my greatest contribution to humanity and the one over which I've had the least control. He's still explaining, and so serious.

Saw my shrink today.  Told her about the fiction obsession, crush, and suicidal shower experience.  "More exercise, more sleep, and more real life," she prescribed, and a blood test to check my TSH. She thinks I'm bored and that, like a border collie locked in a small apartment, my mind is just getting into all sorts of trouble. She's probably right. 

Pigs, Rainbows, and the Invisible Gun

I don't really want to write tonight.  My molar hurts and I don't know if it's one of the ones I know needs to be worked-on or not.  I refuse to deal with it or acknowledge it.  I want to stay lying on my stomach in my daughter's pinkly-lit room on her bed, next to her, with my little son on the makeshift trundle on my right.  I want to lie with the beginning chapters of Charlotte's Web on my mind, dimly remembering playing on and under the unfinished basement steps of my childhood, pretending to be Templeton, the rat, after watching the cartoon special.  In those days, you could see between the steps and children could play in the space under them, in the

An Unexpected Day of Crisis

Valery Milovic, Grief  (http://brokentoyland.com)

This is going to be a little rough because I am going to edit it as little as possible.  I'm only skimming it over once because I don't want to get back into feeling that way by pouring over this.  So this is basically how I felt on Wednesday.  It rambles a little, but might help you feel like you're not the only crazy mom in the gym at your kid's school function.  We're hiding...some less effectively than others.



I had the worst day yesterday that I've had for a long time.  Why is it that the terrible days are the ones that never seem to end?  As you might have guessed from Tuesday's post, I was sick to my stomach all that day and into the night.

WORDLESS WEDNEDAY: Get more Sleep!

Psyche's Dream by Josephine Wall

FYI: Sleep and Depression Article